I’m sorry.
It is me.
But it’s not.
It’s paranoia.
It’s fear.
But it’s mine.

I’m scared I’m doing too much.
Too little.
Trying too hard.
Not enough.
Not giving you space.
Giving too much.

So I’ll stop.
I’ll let you decide.
Maybe I won’t be paranoid.
I probably will.
But if you don’t want me around
I can disappear.

or at least
you're not supposed to admit that they are
but everything is about love
or lack thereof
so, i think wholeness
is a lot to expect.
i think my chest
is gonna rattle no matter
who tries to fill it,
but i still wish for quiet.
i want stillness in my breaths,
and maybe i need to hold them
but maybe i need to hold him
and i think wholeness
is a lot to expect,
but regret stings less than loneliness
so i still write poems about love.

and watch over the woman
who will be my wife, wherever she is

surround her with good people
who will not harm her

give her comfort in moments of sadness
until my arms can do the same

clothe her with peace
until she can hear my voice

and if she be pricked by the ebon briar
of darkness, then light her path toward me

and give me enough days and
strength of step to cross her path

then may I speak words with depth
that cause her to see who You created

silence is not weakness,
nor are the sounds of acoustic
guitar strings, your smile is
painted with brushes of
sweetness, my heart awakens
to the bird who sings -
each word that you chirp glows in
the morning sun, then washes
away into those yellow lights,
many would anxiously search for those
sweet hymns when the day is done -
but i know each beautiful note sung will
channel the beauty of spring when
it is bright.

- t.m

He said "just friends, good friends."
and i nodded in agreement,
even though i felt the fire spark
in my chest long ago.
They all warned me about you,
and i didn't listen.
How was i suppose to
push the feelings away
when all i can think about was
the traces of your hands all
over me
and the warm feeling i got
when you kissed my shoulders.
It was nearly impossible,
but maybe i should've learned my lesson
when i saw you talking to her
pushed up against the wall
in the middle of a party
at three in the morning.
Maybe i should've learned when you
told me you couldn't possibly
have feelings for anyone,
but told me a few weeks later
she was the one that sparked the fire
in your chest.
You would always choose me second.
I think this is the slowest and most
painful way of killing yourself.
But i shouldn't care,
because he always said
just friends,
even when he got too drunk
and decided he wanted to
be in love for the night.